I Hate This
by HeartbreakDevil
Summary: House is dealing with some issues and Wilson, being the friend he is, tries to help. Eventual slash.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own House M.D.**

**AN- First House fic EVER!! I can't believe I'm actually writing this -_- I swore I wouldn't. I guess I lie to myself to…**

_I wonder how fast I can go before fast is no longer fast enough. I wonder how long I can speed down this deserted stretch of road without a cop appearing from nowhere to arrest me. I wouldn't really care though. Hell, I might enjoy it. The feeling that someone else is in control for once. Fuck, probably not._

_Where the hell is Wilson? He left the hospital early so I tried his cell before I left to ask if he wanted to go out for some beers. He never picked up. Asshole. _

_Look. The road curves up ahead but I can't slow down. I must admit, I don't really want to. There's just no reason. I mean seeing Wilson again is a positive but I really don't give a shit about anything else._

_Curve's coming closer. It's a one way street with a ravine. I'll probably hit the curb, flip off my bike and fall into the ravine. How far down is it? There's a good chance I could die from this 'accident'. Shit, I hope so._

The jolt from his bike hitting the curb threw him off immediately. The infamous diagnostician flipped and landed at the top off the ravine with a dull thud. His helmet wasn't secured and was knocked off. Sliding and rolled down the side of the chasm with his bike crashing and tumbling beside him, he fell. Thorns from bushes maliciously tore at his clothing, jagged rocks brutally cutting into the tender skin. The pain in his damaged leg was bad but the fall made it feel as if someone had taken a white-hot knife and stabbed him in the damaged thigh, bitterly twisting the blade.

House worked on instinct only. He couldn't think enough to do otherwise. He clung to whatever he could get his hands on. His nails bit into the earth and soon his nails were bloody, torn, and dirty. His hands were much in the same condition with cuts at every angle with dirt and blood engraved in the wrinkles of his hand.

He stopped falling finally but wished he hadn't. His bike hit a fallen tree and jumped a few feet in the air to land on both the doctor's legs. A scream was torn from his throat, as wild and terrifying as any animal's when it hit the already damaged muscle. The infamous diagnostician, the king of sarcasm and ill-humor, the one who always feels pain lay on his back and stared at the sky, his mind numbed with pain. So much pain he couldn't think to do anything but groan in agony until the pain subside enough where he could think enough to try and get from under the bike. It was no use. It was too painful to move the bike even the barest inch. He looked around for his backpack, hoping to get his cell, or more importantly his pills. The little blue backpack was there, it was whole and surprisingly wasn't ripped. The only problem was that it was way out of reach. Too far to even reach with a branch if he tried.

~-~-~-~

"Where's House?" Cuddy demanded, storming into Wilson's office.

The oncologist looked up from his stack of papers and shrugged. "He called me last night but I missed it. I called him back but he never answered. Maybe he got drunk?"

Cuddy shook her head. "He still would've been in by now."

"Did you call him?" He bent his head and read over a few lines of a patient's file.

"Of course I called him. I called him four times."

"Cell or home?" Wilson scribbled down a few notes and moved on to the next file.

"Both." Cuddy began pacing nervously. She picked up a rubber band from Wilson's desk and started snapping it.  
Wilson looked up and watched her play with it for a moment. "Did you check the exam rooms?"

The Dean threw her hands up in exasperation. "Of course I did. I also checked the janitor's closet, the OBGYN lounge, and the jogging park."

Wilson closed the file and ran a hand through his hair. He looked at his boss dubiously. "And you're sure he's not there? Well then he's probably at home avoiding you. If he doesn't show then I'll stop by after I'm finished here."

"If you find him tell he I said he has double clinic hours." With that the Dean stormed out Wilson's office, still snapping the rubber band.

After she left the oncologist pulled his cell from his pocket and dialed House's cell number. "Damn it, House." Wilson muttered as the phone rang.

"This is House." It was the answering machine. "I'm avoiding you at the moment so please don't leave a message because I'll never listen to it." Then came the beep to let him know it was recording.

"House, where are you? Cuddy's was over here, in my office, busting my ass because _you're_ not here." He rubbed the side of his face in irritation and sighed heavily. "Just hurry up and come to work before she decides to give you double clinic hours. If you don't show, I'm coming over." The oncologist warned before hanging up. He rubbed the back of his neck with a grimace. He really didn't get paid enough to be a grown man's babysitter.

~-~-~-~

The pain was horrendous. It was as if white-hot nails were being shoved into his body again and again. It clouded his mind so severely that House barely registered anything going on around him. Every movement he made, every breath he took sent a fresh wave of pain running throughout his body. The doctor lay on the ground wracked with an indescribable amount of pain, pinned to the ground by the very machine that had given him a level of freedom he had not experienced in years.

It had rained the day before and the ground was still damp. House shivered as the moisture slowly soaked through his blue collared shirt and Barking Irons tee. He had forgotten his jacket back in his office in his haste to get away from annoying patients and suddenly clingy Cameron.

His phone was ringing. It didn't matter though. He couldn't reach it. The diagnostician took a deep breath and willed himself to think clearly. He had to get his phone before he died. At this point he couldn't bring himself to care though. Whatever happens, happens but he sure as hell wasn't going to lay there and let himself die. He reached for the closest thing at hand. It was a stick, still damp and rotting slightly. House shoved it between his teeth and bit down, the taste of dirt on his tongue. He closed his eyes and, lifting his bike just enough, managed to get enough room to get out from under the motorcycle. When he was free he spit out the piece of wood and let himself fall back to the ground, moaning in agony because the pain had magnified. He was completely damp now. Not just from the ground but from the thin layer of sweat that covered his body and soaked his hair.

House turned onto his side and tried to focus on the next task. Getting his phone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HOUSE… I feel like I have to shout that for some strange reason…**

**Hahaha I did this while I was kicked out of class. This shows how much I care about this story so please review it. It would much me feel much better…**

"Damn." Wilson watched as the Dean of Medicine storm down the hall through the slim window in his office. The oncologist pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed in exasperation just as Cuddy barged into his office for the second time today. She was still snapping that damn rubber band.

"Where the hell is House?" Cuddy asked in a nervous voice. She paced the length of the office, biting her lower lip.

"I wouldn't know. He didn't call?" Wilson watched her pace. Cuddy wore a low-cut red blouse and a tight-fitting black skirt. The womanizer wasn't sure whether to stare at her ass or her cleavage. Oh, shit. Wilson coughed and looked away, guilt written all over his face.

Cuddy shook her head. "Wilson, I'm worried he may have gotten himself into trouble." She stared at him expectantly.

"I'll be finished with my work in a few minutes. I'll stop by on my way home and make sure he's ok." He dutifully assured his boss.

Cuddy nodded once and turned on her heel to storm out the door, still snapped that god damn rubber band.

There was no moon tonight so it was pitch-black outside. Wilson had to turn on his high-beams in order to see anything at all. He turned onto a one-way side street in order to get to his destination faster. It was the same one House used to get home quicker when he was in pain and didn't want to waste time was speed limits.

Wilson ran his fingers through his hair, messing up the carefully constructed locks. _Where the hell was House?_ Something must be up if he didn't even show up at lunch to steal Wilson's food.

_Curb's approaching_. Wilson slowed down for the curb and smiled. House always liked to turn sharply at the curb. It gave him a rush of adrenaline and dulled the pain, he had once told the oncologist. One of these days House would get into an accident. On the heels of that thought came a nagging sensation in the back of his mind that something was very wrong. But whatever it was, Wilson couldn't figure it out.

"Get a grip, James." Wilson spoke aloud. He shook his head to get rid of the nagging sensation but it only seemed to get bigger. He parked in front of House's apartment and didn't fail to notice House's bike wasn't there. It wasn't at the hospital either. Wilson had checked before he left. He rolled up the sleeves of his neatly pressed shirt and went up the stairs to his friend's door just in case. Just as he was going to pull out his spare key his phone rang.

"Hello?" There was no reply.

~-~-~-~-~

"Fuck." House said through clenched teeth. He grabbed at anything he could get his hands on to help pull himself forward. He couldn't feel the pain in his hands as they became even more torn and bloody. All he could feel was the all-consuming pain in his leg. The blood pouring from his side didn't register at all, even though there was a small pool of it from where he lay and a morbid faded trail marking his progress. Inch by agonizing inch House struggling to keep moving, never taking his eyes off the backpack.

Finally. He could reach it if he just stretched his arm. There was a foreign pain in his side. As if something was ripping. House looked down and cursed when he saw the blood staining his shirts. He ignored it for the time being and reached again for the bag. He just managed to get his middle finger hooked into the strap and pulled the bag towards him, sighing with relief. Hands shaking violently, House removed his phone and his pills.

"Damn it." Beads of sweat stung his eyes as he tried to dial Wilson's number. His hands shook too violently and the phone slipped out of his hand twice before he managed to type the whole number in. It rang. Once. Twice.

"Hello?"

House never thought he'd be so happy to hear Wilson's in his life. But he didn't say a word. With is other hand he held up the tiny orange pill bottle. It was almost full. Take a couple and he could dull the pain. Take a few more he could get high enough to escape the pain but it _would_ come back. Take all of it and escape the pain for good.

"House? Is this you?" Wilson's voice sounded frantic. "Stop playing around. Where the hell are you? Do you know how worried Cuddy was?"

House nearly laughed. Cuddy never stopped worrying about him. She was always worried he was out vandalizing public property or something.

"House, where the fuck are you? This isn't funny." Wilson's sighed heavily. House could just see him rubbing the back of his neck. He always did that when he was nervous.

"Wilson." House finally gasped out, his voice hoarse. The diagnostician set the pill bottle on the ground beside him and eyed it longingly. "I got into at accident."

"What? Where are you?" Wilson was immediately on the alert. "Did you call paramedics?"

"No, Wilson, I didn't. I'm going to die, James." House stated calmly as he uncapped the pills.

"House, no! Where are you? I'm going to call the paramedics. I want you to hang on. Do that for me, please." Wilson was definitely panicking now.

"James, calm down before you get a panic attack." The doctor turned onto his back and stared up at the black sky with eyes clouded by pain. "I'll make you a deal. If you can make it here in five minutes and stay with me until paramedics arrive then I'll hang on but if you're not here then I can't promise anything."

He could hear the oncologist breathing heavily on the other end. "Fine, I'll play your little game. I'm already in the car. Just tell me where you are."

"That side-street on the way to my apartment, where the road curves and there's a ravine. That's where I got into the accident." House recapped the bottle as he spoke and rattled the pills inside.

"Damn it, House. You want me to go down a ravine?" Wilson exclaimed.

House's eyes drifted shut and his voice got softer. "You don't have to. You can always just go home. I wouldn't blame you."

"Greg, I'm not going to go home. I'm coming but I have to hang up now. OK?"

House could just see Wilson breaking the speed limit just to get to his friend's side. He was probably even crying. Sentimental bastard.

"Alright. James?"

"Yeah?"

"I really hate this."

**AN- OK so what did you guys think? I only got one review (THANK YOU LoriB!!!!!!) so I don't really know. **


	3. Chapter 3

House glanced at the time on his battered cell phone. It was two minutes after Wilson had hung up. Maybe he shouldn't have made the bet, it was nearly impossible for anyone, even Wilson, to make it here in five minutes even if he so happened to be right down the road. The doctor looked at the wound in his side and breathed deeply. It didn't matter anymore. He just wanted to be done with all this. Everything that had happened, from his birth to present, seemed like a complete waste. At this point, even seeing Wilson failed to invoke any type of feeling. House let his eyes drift closed and let himself drift off into oblivion, where nothing hurt anymore.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~

"House, if you die…" Wilson blinked back tears as he sped down the one-way street. The problem with that was that he was going the wrong way. It would have taken over ten minutes to go around and enter the one way street from there. House didn't have that kind of time so Wilson, despite the nagging feeling of doing something _wrong_, drove down the road praying to God he would get into a head-on collision.

"Shit. Piece of shit." Wilson swore as he hit the steering wheel with his fist. "Go faster." He glanced at the clock on his dashboard and swore again. Two minutes past his allotted time and he knew House well enough to know something bad may happen.

Adrenaline pumped through his body and the sound of blood rushing through his ears blocked out everything else. The oncologist parked his car far enough to the side of the road to prevent anyone from hitting it and went to the edge of the ravine. Why the hell didn't they build a God damn rail? His expensive loafers were being severely abused as he slid down the side of the divide. The neatly pressed shirt and pants became ripped and dirtied during the descent. He hadn't looked this way since his brother tackled him in the puddle of mud when they were young.

An immense feeling of relief came over him when, by some miracle, he spotted his friend laying less than a hundred feet from him. Wilson stopped at his side and checked his pulse and breathing.

"Damn you, you selfish bastard. Wake up." Wilson held House's head in his hands. "Wake up, House. Please, I know you'd probably rather want to see Cuddy's cleavage…or ass more than you'd want to see me right now but please, please I'm begging you don't die from this. I don't think I can do this again." He looked up when he heard sirens and saw headlights cut into the darkness. He shouted for a few minutes to get their attention and returned his focus back to House. He pressed his forehead against his friend's. "It hurt when I knew Amber was dying but… it hurt worse thinking that you could've died and it would've been _my _fault. I'm such a bastard for even asking you to do it. I'm sorry."

~-~-~-~-~-~-~

It hadn't been easy getting House's unconscious form back up the ravine but, thankfully, the paramedics had done it. So now Wilson sat in the hospital room in a hard chair beside House. It was two days since House's accident, the infamous doctor had yet to wake up, and Wilson had yet to leave his side. The oncologist was too afraid that if he left House would wake up and not find him there.

The diagnostician was still in bad shape though. Cuts were on almost every inch of his body, his arms had long gashes on them from when he had tried to slow his descent and had to be stitched. His hands were covered with bandages, nails torn and left wrist broken. His side was heavily bandaged where his cane had broken and must have been driven though during the fall. Wilson had watched the surgery and was so nauseated by its removal he had to leave the room. He was just surprised there was no damage to the neck or spine. The leg was a different matter. The bike must have fallen on his legs because they were both a mass of purple and yellow bruises. The amount of pain House must have been in added to his leg pain only served to make Wilson sick again.

"My God, House. You should've been more careful. You're always so reckless." The younger doctor felt tears prick the corners of his eyes as he laid his hand on House's. He brushed his thumb over the bandaged knuckles and smiled humorlessly. "I guess it's a good thing you're not awake right now else you'd probably kill me for touching you." He spoke softly and wiped a tear from his cheek with the back of his other hand. "But you know how sentimental I can get so maybe you'd spare me." He laughed gently, as if House were a baby that could wake at any moment instead of a grown man hooked up to wires and fluids.

"Wilson?"

The oncologist quickly removed his hand and looked up. "Oh, Cuddy, how are you?" He was simply being polite. She had been there less than an hour ago along with Cameron.

"I'm fine. How are you holding up?" She pulled up a second chair and sat down wearily. She held two steaming cups of coffee and offered one to Wilson. The rubber band hung limp and worn from her wrist.

"I'm fine." He took the coffee with a nod of thanks and sipped carefully.

"You should go home. Shower. Eat. Do something. You've been sitting here ever since House got here." She told him. She never took her eyes off Wilson. Wilson never took his eyes off House.

The oncologist shook his head. "I can't do that. I _have_ to be here. I have to make sure he's ok."

With a sigh, Cuddy rose from her chair and gave him a gentle, reassuring pat. "He'll be fine but if you need anything just call me." She told him before leaving.

"Is it nice?"

Wilson's eyes widened in surprise. "House?"

"I assume you're staring at her ass or were staring at her cleavage. So again I ask _is it nice_?" House brought his right hand up before opening his eyes.

"I actually wasn't looking." Wilson wanted to take House's hand in his own and look at the blue eyes again but knew he couldn't. "It's good to see you awake."

House shifted his hand so Wilson could see one baby blue eye. "Sentimental bastard."

"Selfish bastard."

The diagnostician cocked an eyebrow. "That's not a secret but that the first time you've said that. Why?"

"It doesn't matter. How's your pain? I can up your morphine a little if you need it."

"I can manage. Now tell me why."

"Because… I thought you were dead and… and I thought you left me alone."

House rolled his eyes. "You sentimental bastard." He looked Wilson over. "You've been sitting here the entire time haven't you?"

"I wanted to make sure nothing else was wrong. Don't belittle me for it."

"I'm not. I'm trying to say that you look like shit. Go home and get cleaned up. It's unbecoming for a person with your reputation." House smirked.

Wilson frowned. "I don't think about my reputation all that often."

"Obviously, since you've slept with half the nursing staff."

"House." Wilson gave him a warning glare.

"Wilson, seriously, you look awful. Are those the clothes you wore to come down the ravine? Looks like it. _Go home_."

"But I-"

"Go home. There's a whole nursing staff to cater to my various whims."

"I'm coming back." Wilson promised.

"Wouldn't expect any less."

**Hats go off to all who reviewed! Anyway, so far I've been switching from Wilson to House and back again but that changes with the next chapter. I'll be doing strictly House from now on. He's easier for me to connect with.**

'**Till next time…**


	4. Chapter 4

It was quiet after Wilson left. It wasn't a calm or peaceful quiet. It was the type of quiet that makes a person want to keep talking to fill in the silence. The quiet that seemed to settle in the marrow of the bones and became so annoying it got under the skin. House squirmed uncomfortably in the bed wishing even Cameron could be here to chase the uncomfortable silence away. If only Wilson would come back already.

House glared at a few nurses who were staring through the glass walls at the infamous doctor. They whispered behind their hands as they cast glances at the diagnostician but quickly returned to their work when they caught House's glare. He may be injured but he hadn't lost his power to intimidate.

He watched as Cuddy walked to the nurse's station, chatted with a few nurses in a brief, business-like manner and made her way to his room.

"Shit." He muttered under his breath. He may want the silence to go away but that didn't mean he wanted the headache his boss always managed to bring.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Cuddy demanded as she entered the room.

"Normally the first thing a person says in a situation like this would be 'are you ok' or 'I'm glad you're alive'." House said as he stared at her cleavage. "But, with that cleavage, I can see how this is a bit out of the norm."

Cuddy held a file in front of her chest and glared at him. "Do you know how lucky you are? You could've had a concussion, massive internal bleeding, you could've lost a leg-"

"Or I could've died. That would've been nice because then I wouldn't have to lay here and listen to you tell me what I _could've had_." He stared past her to the nurse's station to watch Nurse Brenda harangue one of the new nurses. It was really quite awful to watch. It reminded him of himself.

"Fine, I won't say anything more about it." She promised, calling him back into attention.

"Good. Pass me my chart." House held out his hand and took his chart from Cuddy. "Minor internal bleeding and two broken ribs aside from other obvious damages. This is what you're complaining about? I've had more serious than this when I was a kid." House frowned at his slip of the tongue. Some things shouldn't be said aloud.

Cuddy raised an eyebrow. "Really? So I guess you really were always this reckless. That bike is dangerous. You should get rid of it."

"It's probably already totaled." The doctor rubbed the knuckle of his thumb over his bottom lip as he glanced over his chart. _God, where the hell is Wilson?_

"And you'll probably end up getting a new one." She sat down on the chair and laid her hand over House's. "I'm glad you're alright." She said gently.

The doctor simply looked at her hand for a moment before answering. "I'm sure." _I want Wilson._

Cuddy stood with a sigh. She didn't know why she expected any different. "I'll come back and see how you're doing later."

"Don't waste your time." House called as she walked out the door. _Hurry up Wilson._

There was that awful silence again and House could feel himself slip into it, become depressed by it. The pain steadily increased and he wished to a god he did not believe in that it would just go away. The doctor closed his eyes and breathed heavily through his nose.

"House?"

The diagnostician looked up to see Wilson standing above him, dressed in a clean pair of clothes and hair still wet from his shower.

"Are you ok?" Soft brown eyes looked down at him with concern.

"I'm fine." _Thank God, you're finally here. _

"No, you're not. I'll up your morphine." Wilson reached over to the machine to up the morphine. "You'll feel better soon." He promised.

House looked at his friend with a serious expression. "I think I love you, Jimmy." _I really do._

"Yeah, House, me too." Wilson smiled but negated the statement by rolling his eyes. He sat down on the chair that Cuddy had occupied only moments ago. "So you're probably going to be here for awhile."

"No I won't. Cuddy'll _want_ me here for a few weeks but my chart says there's no permanent damage so I stay for observation for a few days and then I'm a free man." House smirked at the oncologist.

Wilson shook his head. "You can't just leave. You've just gotten into an accident."

"Did you forget that I'm a doctor too? There's no lasting damage. I can go home in a few days, schedule physical therapy in a few weeks. Did you know there's a new physical therapist on the second floor? I haven't seen her yet but I heard she's hot." House smirked again and looked at his friend expectantly.

"Yes, I heard about her but, seriously, you can't just leave." The younger doctor rubbed the back of his neck and looked around the room as if there was something tangible that would convince House to stay.

"You haven't seen her yet?" House asked incredulously. "I thought you'd be all over her. After all, you are single."

"I'm not interested. You can't leave. What if there are complications from the accident that we've missed?" Wilson asked.

"Seriously? Wilson, the philanderer, not interested? Stop worrying, I'll be fine."

"No, I'm not interested and I can't stop worrying. If I don't worry then who will?"

"My mom? Cuddy? Really, I find it hard to believe you haven't taken a go at her yet."

"I'm _not_ interested and if you insist on leaving earlier then recommended then I'm staying at your place until I'm sure you're fine."

"Seriously? So you've finely gotten tired of paying for a hotel room. It's about time. I just figured you've would get another wife to move in with." The drugs were starting to work and he felt the pain start to diminish.

"I'm not planning on it."  
"You never do."

"So I guess I'll be sleeping on your couch for the next few days."

"Well we're not sharing the bed."

Wilson shook his head. "I wouldn't dream of encroaching on your sanctuary." He said sarcastically.

"As long as you bring food it should be alright." The diagnostician grinned. He could feel the morphine begin to do its job and he's eyelids felt heavy. They started to drift close and he struggled to focus as Wilson reached up and stroked the House's cheek with his thumb.

"Goodnight, House. I'll see you when you wake up." Wilson whispered.

"Sentimental bastard." House muttered fondly under his breath. Just before he drifted off completely he could've sworn Wilson kissed his cheek but he couldn't be sure.

**AN- I'm so tired but I can't sleep…it's one of those nights… so I wrote this instead. Enjoy!!!**


	5. Chapter 5

"It's bad enough I can't walk don't make it worse by making me go to a party where no one likes me." House groaned as Wilson wheeled him into the bar. He was just coming down off the morphine so his mind was slowed somewhat. It was the only reason Wilson had gotten him this far without a physical struggle.

"It's not my idea, it's Cuddy's. We'll only stay for a few minutes. All you have to do is thank a few people for caring."

"I'd be lying and they'd be lying."

"Everybody lies."

"I bet Cuddy didn't even tell them why they're here. No one would show if they knew she threw this get-together for me." House rested his head in his right hand as his senses were assaulted by the noise and smell of the bar. "I'm telling you, Foreman and Nurse Brenda are planning my death."

"I suppose you think they had something to do with your accident?" Wilson smiled politely and shook hands with a few nurses and doctors. No one even glanced at House.

The diagnostician was quiet for a moment. "No." He answered finally.

"House, I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to see you after you woke up but there was an accident on the highway." Cameron explained as she walked up to them, dragging Chase along by the hand.

"Don't worry about it. Wilson knocked me out again so he could have his way with me." House smirked at the horrified expression on Wilson's face.

"I'm sure. That sounds just like Dr. Wilson." The immunologist flashed Wilson a smile.

"You should hear what he sounds like in bed."

"Well, we just came to see how you were doing." Chase interrupted with a small cough. "I have to get back to the OR. I have a heart operation scheduled in an hour."

"Yeah, you should probably leave soon before you actually start to care." House snapped suddenly. He pinched the bridge of his nose between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand while he gripped the arm of the wheelchair until the knuckles of his right hand paled.

"I think we'll leave you alone now." Cameron said softly.

"Please do." The diagnostician said through clenched teeth. His eyes were closed and his nostrils flared.

"Take care, House. Goodbye Wilson." She smiled at them both while Chase shook Wilson's hand and gave a House a sympathetic nod before pulling his wife away.

"She was trying to be nice. Can't you do the same?" Wilson whispered disapprovingly.

"No. I can't." House snapped, still gripping the wheelchair tightly. "Wilson, take me home."

"Just a few more minutes and I'll take you home. I promise."

"Wilson…please." The older doctor pleaded in a soft voice. He could almost feel Wilson's gaze boring into the back of his skull and it made him sick.

"Alright, I'll take you home." He whispered gently. House nearly breathed a sigh of relief as Wilson carefully maneuvered the wheelchair toward the exit.

"Wilson, you're not leaving already?" Cuddy's voice made them stop and turn to face her with guilty expressions. Well, Wilson looked guilty, House just looked ready to get out.

"Damn it." The diagnostician muttered. "Wilson, you have two good legs. Run, damn it, run."

Wilson ignored his friend and gave their boss and apologetic smile. "Yes, I'm afraid we were just about to get going."

"You just got here. Stay for a little while. After all, the party is for you." She smiled as sipped her alcohol.

House was starting to get irritated, more so than usual. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm not one for social gatherings." He snapped as he rubbed his forehead in an effort to banish the headache that seemed to grow the longer she stood there.

"The morphine's wearing off." Wilson explained. "We'll see you later." He said as he pushed his way past her.

"Goodbye Wilson. Take care, House." She called after them as they exited the bar, leaving the noise and people behind. Most of them probably didn't even know why they were there. It was sad really.

"Let me help you." Wilson helped House from the wheelchair, being careful of the injured ribs, and helped him in the car. He put the wheelchair in the back and slid into the driver's seat. "I'll get you to the apartment in a few minutes." He promised.

House leaned against the door, forehead pressed against the cool glass. "Wilson, you're moving in, you might as well call it home by now."

"Really? That's… nice of you."

The diagnostician snorted. "This is the third time you've moved in, you might as weel move in permanently…. Unless you're planning on marrying again."

"Why do you always have to mention my multiple marriages? I already told you I don't want another wife."

"And again _you never do_." He became quiet suddenly and more withdrawn as they passed by the ravine where he had his 'accident'.

The oncologist put a gentle hand on his friend's forearm. "I'm sorry. I should've gone the other way."

"Don't be ridiculous. This way is much quicker." House muttered quietly. He tugged at the hairs under his bottom lip thoughtfully.

Wilson cast a worried glance at his friend. "What are you thinking of?"

Shaking his head, House continued to stare out the window.

"Do you want to talk about it? I mean you're usual reckless but you've never had an accident as far as I can remember."

"It was just one of those days." House muttered.

"What do you mean?"

House looked at the hand Wilson had on his hand and smirked. "I know this move. First it's the gentle touch here and there, then it's 'accidental' touches. That's how you end up married you idiot."

"Well there's no chance of us getting married so I think I'm in the clear." Wilson replied with a small smile.

"That wouldn't stop you trying to get in my pants."

"For God's sake, House, calm down. I'm not about to try to _do_ you." He replied with a sigh.

"I hope not. At least not in my current situation. I need to be well rested." The infamous doctor gave his friend a smug look.

**AN- Ugh!!! I got kicked out of class… again! It wasn't my fault though…seriously, it's the guy sitting behind me. Well, at least I got to write this. Enjoy! ^^**


	6. Chapter 6

It felt like he had been by a truck. Then that truck backed up and ran over him. His thigh was on fire, blazing pain searing in the flesh. That's what he felt as soon as he woke. But at least it was a change from his usual chronic leg pain. Too bad it wasn't a change for the better.

When he had fully woken, House evaluated his surroundings out of habit as he did every morning. He never knew if he had drunk too much and ended up passed out behind a bar. It happened a few times.

He was lying on the couch. At least he knew the explanation to that. He had let Wilson take the bed because it was too soft for his ribs. The amount of light he could see through his eyelids and the position of the window from which it came told him that it was still early morning.

He was just about to gather enough energy to push himself further up onto the arm of the couch when he felt something brush against the fingers of his left hand. He opened his eyes and found Wilson curled up on the floor beside the couch, his head resting by House's left elbow and his right hand placed beside the older doctor so their fingers touched. With a fond sigh, House ghosted his fingertips across Wilson's brow. The oncologist stirred slightly but didn't wake. Instead he latched onto House's hand.

"Wilson, wake up." House tried to shake his hand free but Wilson held on too tightly. "My God, Wilson. I never knew you were so needy."

"M'not." The oncologist mumbled. He shifted slightly but didn't open his eyes.

House used his free hand to tug at one of the brown locks. "You really should wake up. I know for a fact that sitting like that isn't comfortable."

Wilson raised his head and rubbed sleep from his eyes. "'M up."

"Why are you sleeping on the floor?"

The oncologist looked up at him quizzically. "You don't remember last night? You were crying."

That's right, he did. He could remember now. Wilson had helped him onto the couch then insisted he gave House at least a small dose of morphine after he screamed in agony as soon as his leg touched the surface of the couch. After a few minuets of House yelling that he could handle it and Wilson denying it the pain only intensified and he finally caved letting Wilson gave him a small enough dose so he would be able to sleep.

His sky blue eyes closed and he drifted off, lulled to slumber by the drugs coursing its way through his system. The peace could last though. It never did. Early in the morning, the sky still dark, House could recall having a vivid nightmare. The feeling of dread and pure terror smothered him like a blanket and, despite the blazing pain in his body, he did everything he could to escape. His throat hurt from the screaming and he could vaguely remember lashing out and hitting something hard with the back of his hand. Wilson had held his face in his soft hands. He used Wilson's voice like a guide helping him back to reality.

"I remember." House said softly. He licked his lips slowly, refusing to look at Wilson and his brown eyes filling with tears.

"You said-"

"I know what I said Wilson. I don't need to talk about it and _you_ don't need to analyze it. Now, get the hell off my hand." He said as he pulled his hand away.

Wilson rose to his feet and crossed his arms the way he did when he tried to get his way. "You should talk about it."

"I don't want to talk about it. I want to eat. Make me something to eat Florence Nightingale." House smirked.

"I'm not letting this go." Wilson responded. He turned his back on House and went to the kitchen.

The diagnostician listened to the diminishing footsteps and grabbed the remote to focus his attention on the TV. He tried to appear absorbed in the show but he had no clue what was going on. He couldn't ignore Wilson slamming pots and pans around as he muttered unintelligible words under his breath.

"Wilson, would you just shut up?" House said softly. He didn't think Wilson actually heard him but he must have because it was suddenly quiet and Wilson softly padded back into the living room.

"Do you need some morphine? Just enough to take the edge off." Wilson lay one hand on the couch near House's head, the other rubbed at the back of his neck.

House looked up at him, frowning slightly. "What I need is for you to go back to work so I don't have to hear you whine and complain about a nightmare I had."

The oncologist crossed his arm firmly. "It wasn't just a nightmare and you know it. You've hinted at things in the past. Maybe I should've paid more attention or pushed you. At least the maybe you'd talk about things now."

"_Go away_, Wilson. Stop telling me what you think your faults are. Go to work, go shopping, I don't care just get the hell away from me." House yelled despite the pain of his ribs and his growing headache.

"I'm just-" Wilson was cut off as he dodged a pillow House had thrown his way.

"I swear I'll throw something at you if you say anything more." House warned with a cold stare.

Wilson held his hand up in defeat. "Fine. I'll go check my patient files and be back in an hour. Do you want me to draw up some morphine before I go?"

"I don't need any! Get the hell out of here." House yelled throwing another cushion. He watched Wilson beat a hasty retreat, clumsily throwing on his shoes and jacket before heading out.

House breathed a sigh of relief at the welcome solitude but soon squirmed as the silence became oppressive. His thoughts inadvertently turning to Wilson. He wondered where exactly he was, what he was doing. He thought of Wilson beside him on the couch and he wish he could go back and freeze time for that single moment.

**AN – Sorry I haven't updated sooner I've been sick… really sick. I'm better now so updates will come more frequently and the next chapter will be longer.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Takes place about six weeks after the last chapter. **

It was surprising, the level of restraint Wilson showed. He hadn't said a word about House's 'nightmare' for weeks. Thought that could be credited to House threatening to burn all Wilson's ties. It could happen.

So now House was back at work. There was still pain but there always would be. Cuddy had mercifully cut down his clinic hours so that was a plus. He was still in the wheelchair though since Wilson didn't want him walking around just yet even though there was no medically justified reason for him not to. He would try and ditch it as soon as possible.

"Hey." Wilson popped his head through the glass door and smiled at House. "Are you ready for lunch?"

House nodded in reply. He noticed Wilson was wearing his dark blue tie. Out of all the ties he had it was the only one that House could actually tolerate and they both knew it.

The diagnostician rose unsteadily to his feet, grasping the head of his cane tightly.

"You agreed you would use the wheelchair." Wilson complained.

"I'm not waiting around for you to push me everywhere, Wilson. I can move around on my own two feet just fine." He leaned heavily on his cane to prevent putting to much weight on his leg and held his broken wrist close to his body.

Wilson gestured to his friend's painful stance with an open palm. "Look at you. You can't even stand right. Tell me what you did with the wheelchair so I can get it for you."

House hobbled painfully past the oncologist, wincing just a little with every step. "Hurry up so you can pay for my food."

Wilson jogged a little to catch up and walked slowly to keep in step with the older doctor. "You shouldn't be walking around. You just had an accident."

"Over a month ago. So when I'm in pain next month are you going to bring it up again?"

The Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose. A sign that he was quickly becoming fed up. "I think you should talk to someone."

"I'm talking to you." He said as he pushed the button for the elevator.

"You know what I mean." Wilson glared at the other doctor. "So you don't want to talk to me, I get it. You should talk to someone though." He let House step onto the elevator first.

"I talk to someone enough as is." House grumbled under his breath.

"That wasn't the first time you've had those nightmares, is it?"

House shot Wilson a warning glare. "Drop it, Wilson. There's no need to play savior here."

"I'm not playing savior. I'm trying to help you." Wilson stepped quickly to get off the elevator and matched House's stride again.

"Don't want it."

"Don't care."

House was quiet the rest of the way except to the person behind the counter that Wilson was paying. Wilson tried to get him to talk during their lunch but he wouldn't say a word. So they settled for silence with minimal tension in the air.

"I'm burning your green tie." House said suddenly after Wilson had dumped their trays.

"What? Why?" Wilson practically squeaked.

"You promised you wouldn't bring up my nightmare." House answered with a shrug.

"You can't just burn my tie, House." Wilson watched his friend rise laboriously to his feet. "You wouldn't really…right? House?"

"See you, Wilson." House called as he limped out the cafeteria. "Don't worry I'll send you the ashes so you can scatter them as you see fit."

Nearly knocking over a nurse in his haste, Wilson hurried to catch up with the injured doctor but House smirked as the elevator doors closed before Wilson made it. For a man with a bad leg and multiple injuries, he could move fast when he wanted.

* * *

House kept smirking as he entered his office even though pain was blazing in his leg. Wilson breathed heavily as he jogged in the diagnostician's office. The younger doctor stood before the desk, hands on hips.

"Let's act like adults and talk about this." He gasped breathlessly. "You can't just go around burning other people's stuff."

House sat down slowly, letting out a measured breath as the pain in his leg lessened slightly. "Actually we had a verbal agreement which _you_ broke."

The younger doctor's eyes widened with disbelief. "You're not seriously going to burn my tie…are you?"

"Maybe." House groaned a little as he used one hand to lift his bad leg onto his desk. "I'm open to compromise."

"I'll pick up dinner on our way home."

"Good man." House said approvingly. If there was one way to his heart it was through food and they both knew it.

Just as the door closed it was opened again. Foreman entered with a small smile on his face.

"I solved it." He threw the file on House's desk and stood back, hands on hips, looking triumphant. "I solved your case."

House merely glanced up at Foreman before reaching into his desk drawer to get his PSP with a wince. "I had no doubt you would solve it without me on account I haven't been here."

"I realize that's probably the best I'm going to get from you but couldn't I get a congratulations?"

"You don't need it therefore I don't have to give it." House tried to play his game but his cast got in his way and he kept losing so he tossed the game into his backpack. He rose laboriously to his feet, shrugged on his backpack, and brushed past Foreman to walk out the door.

"No, I don't need it but most people would like to hear it every once in awhile." Foreman called as the door began to close.

"Good thing you're not most people." House replied just before the door hissed closed.

With slow and careful steps, House made his way down the hall to Wilson's office. The oncologist held up a finger to indicate House should wait in silence while he carried on his conversation. He was astounded that House actually managed to do just that.

"Alright, what is it?" He asked.

"Case solved, I want to go home." House jerked a thumb towards the elevator. "So let's go." He rested both hands on his cane and supported most of his weight on it.

"Fine. There's no point arguing the fact we've been here less than five hours because you'll simply dismiss it." Wilson discarded his lab coat in favor of his regular jacket, giving House a disapproving glare as he adjusted the collar. "Should've stuck to the wheelchair."

"You should stick to keeping quiet." House snapped. He hung his head for a second and let out a long sigh. "Look, I don't need you telling me what I should've done. Let's just go to the car and be done with this day."

Wilson's eyebrows furrowed and he stepped close to House, invading his personal space. It was uncomfortable though. They did it all the time. "I'm sorry I mentioned it then but I'm trying to help you. Don't get angry with me for it." He laid the fingertips of his right hand on House's chest. He was surprised his hand wasn't slapped away.

House took Wilson's hand off his chest but instead of letting go right away he held on for just a moment before letting it drop. The way the light hit Wilson's eyes made his breath hitch ever so slightly. "Let's go home." He whispered. "I'm tired."

He didn't wait for Wilson's response. He was already in the lobby before Wilson even stepped on the elevator. He leaned against the wall, head resting against it. These feeling weren't supposed to be there, not after Stacy left and especially not with his best friend. He didn't want them, didn't know what to do with them. So he did what he did before. He buried them.

**AN- So long over due but I got snowed in today (hurray) so I found time to write. Enjoy…**


	8. Chapter 8

House's eyes were half-mast as he entered Wilson's car and he refused to look at the oncologist. Instead he looked out the window, pressing his forehead against the cool glass.

"You _should_ talk about it."

House glanced at Wilson to see his mouth set in a tight line, gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles paled.

"Stop it." House whispered. He was tired and didn't want to deal with ghosts of the past.

"You were yelling at me. You _hit_ me." Wilson shook his head in quiet desperation.

House cocked an eyebrow. "Do you want an apology?"

"This is not funny."

"What's done is done. Stop prying into things that have nothing to do with you."

Tires screeched as Wilson swerved into a parking spot. He turned to glare at House. "Don't do that. Don't downplay your past and act as if nothing significant happened to you. Don't act as if you had a great average childhood. I know you didn't."

House fingered the head of the cane in his right hand and thumped it against the car floor for a few moments. "My childhood wasn't normal. I got into a lot of fights as a kid." He shrugged. "I was just as smart-mouthed back then as I am now. That's all that was."

"No. No it wasn't just that." Wilson shook his head furiously. "You called me Dad. You yelled at me to stop hitting you."

Everything seemed to stop. His eyes widened with fear and breathing stopped. House pressed his lips together tightly as a sign he wouldn't say another word.

Wilson hit the steering wheel in frustration and yelled, "Stop shutting me out. Let me help you." He took a deep, stuttering breath and grabbed fistfuls of the exposed collar of his crisp white shirt. He was probably on the verge of having an anxiety attack.

"Hey, calm down." House's left hand hovered over Wilson's arm.

"Don't tell me to calm down." Wilson snapped. He held his head in his hands and leaned back against the seat.

House sucked air into his mouth and moved it around before letting it out in a sigh. "Are you ok?" He asked hesitantly, looking over at Wilson after he had taken a few calming breaths.

Running a hand over his coat to smooth it out, Wilson nodded slowly. "I'm fine."

House gave a small nod of approval.

"What are you trying to accomplish? Is this just you being stubborn or is it something else?" Wilson asked in a whisper.

The diagnostician felt the corners of his mouth turn down in a frown. "There _is_ nothing else. There's just you, trying repeatedly to dig up the past. Do you realize you're the only one who wants to reopen old wounds?"

"So you admit something happened."

"I've moved on, Wilson. Things happened. I sure as hell don't want to waste my time talking about it." House yelled.

"You need to. You need to get closure."

"Did your shrink tell you that after Amber died? Because you really opened up." As soon as the words were out he regretted saying them. There was no going back now. He had to face the consequences of his actions. That was all he could do.

"That's not fair." Wilson's brown eyes were so filled with hurt House couldn't stand to look.

House pursed his lips and turned his gaze to the floor, suddenly finding a dirt stain fascinating. Wilson tore his gaze from House to concentrate on the road.

"You're right." House said gruffly as Wilson parked in front of their apartment. "It wasn't fair for me to bring her up like that." It was a half-ass attempt at an apology but at least he said it.

"I'm the one that should be sorry." Wilson hung his head. "I had no right to bring up your past. I just… I care about you and… I want to be able to help you."

All he could hear was his heart beat as panic began to set in. Things were becoming far too intimate and he couldn't handle it. He simply nodded dumbly before fumbling with the lock and stumbling out the car. He heard the car door open and close then Wilson's footsteps closing in on him. He had just gotten the door open when he felt Wilson's fingertips brush the back of his neck.

"What the hell?" House jerked awkwardly away from the touch, nearly falling over when his bad leg gave in.

Wilson caught him by the front of his jacket, hooking his fingers into the pocket, and had to wrap his other arm around the older doctor to steady him. Their chests brushing together as they swayed unsteadily on their feet.

House dropped his cane and instinctively grabbed onto Wilson's coat with his right hand in an effort to keep upright. "What are you doing?" He pulled back a little, body tensing as the result of physical contact.

"Do you even know how many scars you have?" Wilson asked. "Every time you ended up in the ER I could see them. There's one on the back of your neck. I would tell myself they were just collections from an active childhood. I always doubted myself though."

House pulled Wilson's hands off his jacket. "I have nineteen belt buckle scars, three burn scars, two surgical scars, and five self-inflicted scars. I also have a scar on my lip from when I accidentally bit it. Is that enough for you?" He said calmly as he gave the oncologist a withering glare.

"No."

"What else do you want from me, Wilson?" House yelled. He threw his arm out angrily gesturing at nothing in particular. "Do you want me to tell you how much my father hated me? How he constantly belittled me and treated me like shit? How I loved it when he beat the shit out of me because then at least I knew that _he_ knew I existed? I give you everything I have and nothing is good enough for you."

Wilson tried to comfort his friend by wrapping his arms around him but House knocked his arms away. His chest expanding more than normal as he took deep breathes.

"Is that what you wanted to hear? You sick bastard." It was frightening the way his voice cracked. "I've tried for years to just keep stuff like this buried and you had to dig it up. You and your damn need to know."

"House, I-"

He held up a shaky hand. "It's over. He's dead. The end." House spun on his heel to limp heavily toward his bedroom sans cane.

It was as if there was a gaping hole in his chest as closed the door behind him and he felt as if he might actually be sick. He drew the blinds so it was dark and curled up in the middle of the bed despite the pain of his ribs. The smell of Wilson still cling to bed and, coupled with the sound of the younger doctor baking out of guilt, helped lull him to sleep. He stayed in that curled position, biting the knuckles of his right hand to keep from crying.


	9. Chapter 9

A gentle hand on his shoulder startled House awake.

"What the hell?" House squinted against the light coming through his door and fumbled back away from the hand. The sheets that became tangled with his legs only served to increase his panic and he slid off the bed, arms folded over his head to protect it.

"House, calm down. It's just me." Wilson carefully untangled the sheets from around House's legs and helped him back onto the bed.

"Are you watching me sleep now? Get your hands off me." House brushed of Wilson's comforting hand and used his bedpost to rise to his feet.

"No. You called my name. I came to make sure you were alright." The oncologist laid a hand on House's forearm to steady him.

"No I didn't." He looked for his cane for a second before remembering he had abandoned it on the floor of his living room last night. He held onto his thigh with his right hand and limped heavily out the door.

"You're wrong." The oncologist called after House slammed the bathroom door closed.

The older doctor leaned back against the door, the wood grain rough against his scalp as he rested his head against it. "Don't you have to go to work or something?" He rubbed the knuckles of his right hand over the stubble of his chin in a weary fashion.

"House, it's three in the morning."

"Then go back to sleep." House groaned. "Go grocery shopping or bar hopping, I don't care. Just leave me alone."

There was silence and House would have thought the other man had gone if he didn't hear the quiet sigh coming from the other side.

"You were wrong." Wilson repeated after what seemed like an eternity.

House opened the door a crack. "About what?" He asked gruffly.

"You said that you give me everything and it's not good enough for me. It's true, everything you have you give to me but you were wrong when you said it wasn't good enough for me."

House opened the door a little wider so he could get a better look at Wilson's face. "When did you change your method?"

"What?" Wilson's eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"Usually you just buy chocolates or flowers after an argument."

The oncologist pushed the door opened wider to step into House's personal space.

"I know where this is going." House said taking a step back. "Don't do this. Don't ruin things."

"Ruin what, House? Our friendship? Our lives? Because I'll be brutally honest with you, you would be a wreck without me."

"Gee, thanks."

"Who else tolerates your crap day after day? Who else is there to pick you up off the floor? Who else cares for you like I do?"

"Thank you, Saint Jimmy. You're so humble."

"And I would be absolutely nothing without you."

House took a step back. "Let's just stop there"

"Who would pick me up when I fall?" Wilson continued. "Who would care enough to look past my façade and make sure I'm ok? Who would give me the opportunity to let me be myself instead of having to pretend all the time?"

"You're wrong. I don't do anything for you."

"Yes, you do." Wilson raised his voice in frustration. "You just don't see it because you don't think you're capable of doing any good outside of medicine. You think you're just this worthless junkie –"

"Ex-junkie" House corrected.

"Whatever. My point is that you're the best thing that has ever happened in my life."

House took a step towards Wilson. "You're feeling guilty about what happened last night. Go sleep it off. You'll feel differently."

"No, I won't." Wilson shook his head furiously and gesture between them. "Ever since I met you I always wanted more than just friendship."

"So say the ex-wives. You're straight, Wilson, not gay. Go back to bed."

"Straight. Gay. Those are just words. I don't care what you call me; I just want you to know that I want more than just this."

"And how do you know I'll reciprocate those feelings? How do you know that I feel the same?"

Wilson played with the collar of his McGill sweater nervously. "I don't." He admitted. "But I needed to tell you how I felt."

They were so close there was barely an inch separating them. House brought his right hand up close to Wilson's left cheek, his fingertips barely touching the soft skin. He could see the hope radiating in the soft brown eyes but he couldn't let this go on.

"I can't."

It was amazing how those two words seemed to shut a person down. The light in Wilson's eyes simply died and he face went blank.

"You can't do what? Is it me? I can change. I'll do whatever you want." He went on pleading and making promises.

"It's not you." House assured him. "You're like Cameron. You want to fix something that's broken."

"No. I just want you." Wilson took the hand that House held close to his face and gripped it firmly in his own hand.

"Nonetheless, I'm too broken to be fixed. Don't you realize that every relationship I have gets screwed up? It's only by some miracle that you've stayed around this long. Don't make me lose that too."

"You won't lose me."

House sighed heavily and ghosted his fingertips over Wilson's jaw. "Forgive me."

"For what?"

"For everything I've ever done to hurt you."

"I don't –"

"If you want this to be more than just friendship then forgive me of my past wrongdoings so we can move on."

"Of course. I forgave you long ago."

House leaned closer, pressing his lips to Wilson's. He wrapped his arm around the oncologist to pull him closer until their hips touched. Wilson placed his hand on the back of House's neck to deepen the kiss, their tongues battling for dominance. House was the first to pull away. Both breathed heavily.

"I've always wanted more too." House admitted.

**AN- I apologize if it's a little ooc at the end. Anyway this is my Christmas gift to you in case I don't post earlier. Also there is nowhere close to the end. There are so many more hardships to endure!!!! **


	10. Chapter 10

The alarm clock blared in their ears and echoed across the apartment.

"Shit. House, wake up." Wilson groaned as he pulled the covers off their bodies.

House shivered. "It's s-so c-c-cold."

Wilson yanked the covers off all the way and put his hand on House's shoulder. "If you would get out of bed it wouldn't seem so cold."

House wrapped his arms around his torso and curled in upon himself. "I'm sorry. I won't do it again. I promise." He whispered.

"House, wake up." Wilson shook the other doctor gently. "It's Wilson. You didn't do anything." He reassured him as he wrapped his arms around the thin frame.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please, I'll be good. I'll be good." House covered his head with his arms and continued muttering apologizes as he trembled violently.

"No. You have nothing to be sorry for. It's over. You're ok. You're with me now." Wilson muttered in his ear. He rocked back and forth slowly, holding House in his arms and stroking the thinning brown hair.

"Do you still want more?"

Wilson rested his chin on House's shoulder so he could get a better look at his face. His blue eyes were clouded and half-mast but at least he was trembling so much as shivering.

"Do you still want more?" House repeated. "I understand if you don't. Stacy wasn't even sure at first."

"Of course I want more. I'm not leaving just because of your nightmares. You have to give me a little more credit than that." Wilson squeezed House's shoulder briefly.

The diagnostician squirmed a little. "That's great and all but could you get off?"

"Am I making you uncomfortable?" Wilson asked, pulling back a little.

"No. You're crushing me."

"Oh." Wilson jumped back of if his touch burned. "I'm sorry."

House nodded dismissively and looked around the room, his eyes never lingering for more than a second. "I have to ask you something." He said quietly, his teeth biting into his lower lip.

"What is it? You can ask me anything."

"Are we going to keep this a secret? I understand if you do." House drew his arms and legs closer to his body as if trying to protect himself from something.

Wilson grabbed House shoulder and made him turn over so they would face each other. "Why would you ask that?"

House watched the corners of Wilson's mouth turn down in an unfamiliar frown. "Because it would ruin your image." He explained as if it were obvious. "I know how much you care about what people think of you."

The oncologist looked away for a moment then returned his gaze to meet House's. "You're right. I do care about what people think of me but I care more about what you think and how you feel. I have no reason to keep our relationship a secret."

House reached up hesitantly to bury the fingers of his right hand in Wilson's hair. "If I do something wrong you'll tell me, right? I want to make this work."

Wilson laid his hand over the one House had tangled in his hair, his fingers warmed slightly by the heat of House's hand. "There are few certain things that you can do wrong in a relationship and you're too good to do any of them."

The unspoken question of Wilson monogamy hung in the air like a toxic gas, choking them with the feeling of uncertainty it brought.

It was House that finally broke the silence. "You're going to be late." He slipped his hand from Wilson's grasp and let it fall to rest on top of his stomach.

"Yeah, I think Cuddy will let it slid this once though. I'll wait if you want me to drive you to work." Wilson stood beside the bed and placed his hands on the mattress, fingers grasping at the sheet.

"If that's what you want." House turned his head away, neck arched and exposed. He jumped slightly as Wilson pressed his lips to the tender skin. He looked at his companion with a nervous expression.

"What?" Wilson asked.

"Nothing. I just… didn't expect it."

Wilson studied him momentarily. His eyes taking in every detail until they finally settled on House's blue eyes. "Do you expect me to hurt you?"

House snorted. "You couldn't hurt a fly."

"Really, House. Do you think I would hurt you?" He repeated.

"No." House answered with a small shake of his head. "It's not you that makes me jump. I'm screwed up."

"No you're not."

"For as long as I can remember I've rarely been touched except in anger. I learned to hate being touched when I least expect it and to distrust people that touch me frequently."

"You don't trust me?"

"Of course I do. You're…different. It feels different with you. I feel safer."

Wilson turned his head but House could see one corner of his mouth turn up slightly. "I think that has to be one of the nicest things you've ever said to me." He murmured under his breath. Leaning forward, Wilson kissed House's cheek and then his neck again.

House gave a small laugh and hummed with content, stroking Wilson hair as he simply lay on top of him, head resting on his chest, breathing in the older man's scent.

"Greg, I love you." He whispered.

House hummed again, this time in thought. "I just tolerate you." His attempt to conceal his laugh gave him away and he looked down to see Wilson smile.

"We'll change that." Wilson said with conviction.

* * *

House didn't see Wilson at work all that day. It wasn't until well after lunch that Wilson came strolling into House's office to check on his latest heartthrob and found him seated at his desk, head in hands. Even still, Wilson could see the fresh bruise forming on his cheekbone.

"Oh my God." Wilson gasped. "What the hell happened? Who did that to you?"

House looked up quickly and waved his hand dismissively. "It's nothing. I made a very rude comment about a patient and her husband."

"You can't keep provoking patient's like that but even still that doesn't make what he did right." Wilson gently held House's chin between thumb and forefinger of his left hand and turned it so he could better examine the bruise.

House shrugged. "I can't help the fact they were both being idiots. I had to say something."

"Just try to be nicer. It's not like I'm asking you to run a mile."

"Good." House snapped. "Because it's kind of impossible for me, with the missing thigh muscle and all." His blue eyes flashed with fury.

"I'm sorry." Wilson stroked House's jaw line with his thumb, the stubble rough against the smooth manicured finger. "You know I didn't mean it that way."

House pulled his chin away with a quick twist of his head. "It doesn't matter. I shouldn't have overreacted that way." He unclipped his pager from his belt as it gave a shrill beep. "My patient's throwing a hissy fit. Apparently no one else can do anything about but me."

Wilson followed close behind as House exited his office. The diagnostician practically ran to the room where the CT for his patient was supposed to be held.

House pointed to the nurses that clung to the wall like vines and told them to leave. The patient stood in the room holding her IV pole like a weapon. House stretched out his arm and pushed Wilson back until he was against the wall.

"Calm down." House said softly to his patient. "Tell me what you want."

"I want to go home." She screamed. "No more test. Just let me go."

"I can't do that. We have to figure out what's wrong with you first." He explained, watching Foreman reach for the sedatives out of the corner of his eye. Unfortunately, he was paying me attention to Foreman and failed to see the IV pole. He did feel it as it hit his torso and sent him crashing to the floor.

He heard Foreman and Taub's voices faintly as they struggled with the patient and finally injected her with the sedatives. He was trembling violently, arms wrapped around his head.

"God, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. I'll do better, I swear. Don't hit me again." House cried.

"Oh my God." Taub breathed. "Is he having a flashback?"

Wilson fell to his knees beside his companion, using his body to try and shield House from their gaze. "Get out." He yelled.

Thirteen had her hand over her mouth and looked as if she was going to be sick but continued to stare in morbid fascination.

"Should I give him a sedative?" Foreman asked uncertainly.

"No. He'll be fine. Please, just leave." Wilson pleaded with Foreman.

Foreman pushed Thirteen and Taub out the door before giving House a torn look and leaving himself, leaving their patient sedated on the CT table.

Wilson made soothing noises and rubbed the outside of House's arm.

House stopped trembling after a moment and cursed miserably under his breath.

"Wilson, get out."

"There's no reason to be embarrassed. I –"

"I'm not embarrassed. I'm pissed. Get out and call my team so I can do this damn CT scan."

Wilson helped House to his feet, their bodies pressed closed together, so there was no way he could miss the slight trembling.

"Thank you." House pressed his lips to the top of Wilson's head. "Now go get those lazy bastards in here so they can do their damn job."

* * *

**Two flashbacks in one day!!! I'm evil… anyway it's much longer than the others but it had to be done so enjoy…**

**If I haven't replied to your review then I'm sorry. There's just so many of you! But it makes me happy. Anyway, know that I've read them and I'm grateful for them.**


	11. Chapter 11

The blinds were drawn in both the conference room and the diagnostician's office and only the desk lamp in the office cast its dim glow over House things but not House. Very little light reached where he was sitting on the floor behind his desk, right leg fully extended while the left was drawn up. The tiny buds of his headphones were stuck in his ears and the fingers of his right hand played along with Schubert's Serenade. It would be another couple of weeks before his cast could come off. He should have felt lucky that he wouldn't receive any permanent damage but he didn't feel lucky, he felt numb.

The world was just as small and sad as before and even though being with Wilson made it marginally more tolerable everything still seemed just as dull and lifeless as before.

For a moment House's mind replayed the night of the crash and for just a second he wished that had been the end of Gregory House. Almost as soon as that thought entered his mind was it followed by the thought of Wilson accompanied by a wave of guilt.

In truth life was meaningless. It was the medicine that gave it weight and value but it was Wilson that kept him anchored to it. Without Wilson or even the thought of the man life was intolerable and House didn't know if he could have suffered another minute of it. To wake up and know that he was alone seemed worse than death itself.

A large shaft of light fell across the floor and after a second disappeared, signaling someone had either entered his office or had looked to see if he was in. At the sight of French loafers appearing before him he looked up to see Wilson, briefcase in hand and coat hanging from the other. His lips were moving but the music of his iPod had reached a crescendo and successfully drowned out Wilson's voice.

"What?" House asked as he pulled out one of the buds.

The oncologist rolled his eyes with mild annoyance. "What are you doing on the floor? Wait, forget I asked. Are you ready to go?"

House nodded and extended his right hand so that Wilson could help him up. Dropping his briefcase and coat onto the chair the younger doctor kneeled beside the older doctor to wrap his arms around the thin torso. House reached up to bury his long fingers in the carefully constructed locks.

"All I needed was your hand." House grumbled even as he buried his nose in the crook of Wilson's neck.

"I've waited all day for this." Muttered Wilson as he kissed House's cheek softly.

"I just saw you less than three hours ago."

"I'm greedy. Sue me." Wilson pulled back a little so that he could help House to his feet but House pulled him back.

"Not yet." He said under his breath. He needed this, Wilson, more than anything right now just as the despair was settling over him. Without meaning to he whisper aloud, "I'm sorry."

"For what? You didn't kill your team while I was gone did you? I'm sure they weren't that bad." The oncologist's soft hand absentmindedly smoothed down the wrinkles on House's shirt, a small smile playing about is lips.

Averting his gaze in favor of staring at the books on his bookshelf he took Wilson's hand in his own and breathed deeply. "That's not it."

"Then what is it?" Wilson studied House's pained expression for a moment. "You can tell me."

The diagnostician dropped Wilson's hand and curled the fingers of his right hand into a fist which he dropped into his lap, the nails biting into the calloused pad of his hand. He stared helplessly at the bookshelf as he spoke. "It wasn't an accident."

Confusion was written all over the younger doctor's face. "What are you talking about?"

House turned his helpless gaze to Wilson. The night I crashed my bike wasn't an accident."

"I don't understand. Why?" The younger's face was distorted in a mask of confusion and grief.

"Because I refuse to keep secrets from you. I will not do what my father did." Anger flared in his chest and he stared at his companion, eyes flashing with what was almost contempt but it was Wilson it was aimed at. He was bitterly angry at himself for telling Wilson when it could destroy a relationship that had only just begun and also that he had given into despair the night of the accident and brought them to this point. The expression in the blue eyes changed suddenly and begged for forgiveness and understanding.

"Not that, well yes that too, but why did you call me that night? If you did it on purpose what was the point of calling me?" House regarded him with a blank stare. He would not tell and if Wilson found out it could very well tear them apart. So he waited, watching as the gears turned in the oncologist's head. "You son of a bitch." Wilson whispered at last, his hand covering his mouth and his eyes wide with shock.

House looked down and turned his focus on the wrinkles of his shirt. "I had to know." He said quietly.

"So you risk your life over a question? Again, I might add. What made you even think I was still angry? Damn it can't you see I love you?"

"Words mean nothing to me. There are only your actions." House spoke quickly.

"Then can't you tell?" Wilson jumped to his feet, his frame quivering with a mass of emotions. With his hands clenched into fists at his side he walked around the desk until it hid him from view.

House remained on the floor, his nose buried in the crook of his left arm while his teeth gritted together in anguish. He wanted to get up and shout meaningless apologies but he didn't because the damage had already been done and enough experience told him that it would be useless.

After what felt like an eternity the diagnostician finally rose to his feet to find his companion standing by the door to the conference room with his back facing House, both hands clasped over the back of his neck. Sans cane House limped heavily over until there was less than a foot between them. He could have easily reached out to touch the expensive material of Wilson's suit jacket or run his hand over the brown locks again but he didn't dare. Everything seemed so fragile at that moment as if one wrong move or touch could break them like glass.

"You gave me the choice." Wilson broke the silence with a strangled sob. "And what if I had gone over your stupid time limit simply because I was too far away? What then? I could have lost you. You're such an irresponsible, reckless jerk." Another sob broke free which he tried to contain behind clenched teeth.

House's mouth suddenly went dry and for the first time in a long while he found himself unable to speak. The words that usually rolled off his tongue so easily escaped him. He was unable to tell the man in front of him how much he meant. To lose him now seemed worse than death. At least in death there is no pain but here he could already feel the blade of agony pierce his heart.

"Why are you throwing all this at me at once? Are you trying to push me away? Do you not want to be together? I don't understand, House. I'll move out if that's what you want." The oncologist turned to face him finally, his brown eyes welling up with tears. House felt paralyzed. He couldn't move or speak and he was filled with a type of terror he had not known since childhood.

"I'll get my stuff out." Wilson said with a heavy sigh after House failed to answer.

_NO!_ House screamed in his mind.

"I suppose I can manage just being friends."

_No no no no no no no no!!!!!!!!!!!_

"Maybe you were just being a good friend when I was being so pitiful and said I love you."

_Damn it, Wilson. You couldn't be farther from the truth._ He would have said the words aloud but he was still in a paralyzed state, his face a blank mask.

"I'll leave."

"No." First it came out a whisper then a sudden shout and his hands were on Wilson, grabbing the front of the neatly ironed shirt in his fists to bring him closer. "You're so wrong I'm offended. It's as if all these years as friends have taught you nothing. And don't you dare think of even just being friends because I cannot stomach the idea of you not sharing my bed or kissing-" House stopped abruptly and let go of Wilson's shirt. He realized that he had spoken without thought and poured out his heart so to speak. It was a sign of weakness his father used to say but it didn't feel that way. He felt almost relieved but when he saw Wilson's face had become blank he felt nervous. "You're right though." He said quietly. "I've dumped too much on you at once. If you want to leave I'll understand." Willing himself to look Wilson in the eye House put on the façade; calm, confident, and unafraid.

Neither of them moved several minutes so that the only noise came from the muted voices and the echoing footsteps of the people in the hall. It was Wilson that closed the gap. Bringing his hand up slowly he placed it on House's chest.

"Don't say anything yet." Wilson ordered softly when House opened his mouth to speak. "You fairly idiotic for someone who's suppose to be so smart." House couldn't help but roll his eyes at the comment. "How could you even think I was angry over Amber's death? I was upset, yes, but not at you. Never at you. And I know you're depressed but why crash your bike? You couldn't talk to me about it? You think I won't understand?"

House shook his head and hesitantly laid his hand over the one Wilson had on his chest. "There's no way you can understand and there's no way I can explain it to help you understand. I hate this more than you can ever know. Anti-depressants only help marginally. I'm in physical pain every second so that sometimes it's all I can focus on and it's draining. Sometimes I want to tear my hair out just so that I'll have a new source of pain. I've learned to live with it though since it's my only constant companion. Look at me, Wilson. I have night terrors, nightmares, insomnia I'm so screwed up I push people away but keep a few because I'm frightened to death of being alone." He let go of Wilson's hand and took a step back. "Stop it." He said gruffly.

"Stop what?"

"Looking at me like that. Stop pitying me. I hate that."

"I'm not pitying I'm sympathizing."

"Same difference. I don't need either."

"I understand." Wilson closed the gap again. "Life is unbearable to you. It's become a chore to simply exist and your leg pain only makes it worse but it gives you something to latch onto because without it and without your job you wouldn't really exist. You would feel invisible. That pain let's you know you're alive so it's almost comforting in a way."

House sucked in a sharp breath then let it out slowly, his face a mask of calm. "I don't want to live like this anymore." A slight quiver in his voice betrayed him.

"I know."

* * *

AN- Sorry for the delay people but my old computer broke and I had to get a new one. This chapter is longer than the others so enjoy!


	12. Chapter 12

From the time Wilson and House exited PPTH to the time they entered their apartment they were quiet. The air surrounding them filled with slight discomfort. They had made a silent agreement not to speak anymore of the things that had transpired between them over the last few hours but it weighed so heavily on their minds that casual conversation was no longer an option.

House had his legs propped up on the coffee table and had the television turned on as soon as he got home. As he flipped through stations he listened to Wilson's methodical cleaning of the already clean kitchen.

"Wilson, stop cleaning and come sit down." House said loudly to be heard over the loud scrubbing and occasional clatter of pots and pans. After a second and a sigh later Wilson came padding in, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows and his tie knotted loosely around his neck.

"Wait." House shouted just as Wilson was about to sit down.

"What?" The oncologist jumped and looked at the couch as if he might find something horrible there.

"I need beer." House replied looking up at his companion with large blue eyes.

The oncologist muttered something foul under his breath and threw his friend a glare before stalking off the kitchen. He returned a few seconds later with two beers in hand.

"Thanks." Mumbled House as he took the beer, his fingers lingering on Wilson's a second longer than necessary. His eyes were fixed to the television. It was a boxing match.

"My father made me box when I was eleven." House comment airily after a few moments. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the oncologist turned his head to look at him.

"I guess that makes sense considering he was into the physical…" Wilson's voice trailed off and he cleared his throat as he turned his attention back to the television. "My father made me take art classes." He said quickly.

House snorted and brought the bottle to his lips in a wasted attempt to hide his grin. "No wonder you're such a pansy."

"I am not." Wilson protested indignantly. "I just so happen to like the finer things in life. And, I'll have you know, I even learn how to play piano."

"You?" House asked incredulously with raised eyebrows. "I don't believe it."

"It's true. I even learned to play that one song." The younger doctor snapped his fingers in irritation as he tried to recall the title. "Heart and Soul. Not the long complex version but the simple short one." Done with the senseless violence, he quickly snatched the remote from House's hand, garnering him a surprised expression from the older doctor, and changed the station until he found a romantic comedy.

"I still don't believe you." House tried to take back the remote but Wilson stuck it between his legs slightly under his thigh. "What are you; two?" The diagnostician asked with a roll of his eyes.

"Maybe." Wilson smirked as he watched the other eye his crotch, looking for the best way to get the device back.

"Alright, fine." House dove his hand between Wilson's legs causing him to jump and turned off the TV. "Prove it."

"I can't. It's been over thirty years since I've played."

"So? I'll re-teach you." House leaned close until their noses almost touched. Inhaling slowly he could faintly make out the scent of Wilson's favored shampoo and the smell of his cologne. "Come on." Abandoning his beer, he rose to his feet and limped, sans cane, over to the piano.

Grudgingly, Wilson followed and seated himself beside the other doctor. The small piano bench wasn't large enough to fit both of the comfortably so House sat as close to the edge as he could while Wilson sat with his left leg over the edge. House moved his left shoulder back and draped the arm over Wilson's shoulder to give him a little more room to move over. He watched with slight amusement as the tip's of Wilson's ears turned red when his thumb ran gently over the oncologist's neck.

"I, uh…I kind of, um, remember the, uh…the left hand." Wilson stammered as House brushed the callous pad of his thumb over the smooth cheek.

The diagnostician left off touching Wilson and smirked. "Calm down, I've barely touched you."

"Shut up." The oncologist said quickly, the blush creeping into his cheeks. He focused his attention on the keys in front of him and played a few notes softly and hesitantly. "Like this?" He asked, his eyebrows furrowed and his lips pressed together in concentration.

"Yep." House answered, popping the _p_. "Then play this." He reached over and rested his right hand lightly on Wilson's to play the same note plus five more.

The younger doctor followed his example and after a few more tries and a few helpful hints he played it exactly the same with House following patiently with the right hand.

"See, I told you." Wilson straightened a little under House's arm, a grin spreading across his face. The triumph was clear in his voice.

The older doctor smiled faintly at his companion. His blue eyes studying the oncologist's face briefly before settling on the loosely knotted tie. "Yeah, you proved me wrong. But…" His voice was quiet, almost gravelly when he spoke. He slowly loosened the tie further with the long fingers of his right hand.

"But what?" Wilson asked in a quiet voice as he fixed his eyes on House's lips. The space around them was quiet but not uncomfortable. It was the type of quiet when things became serious and all you could hear in the silence was the sound of your own heart hammering in your chest.

"I don't think you should be allowed to wear ties. It offends my eyes." The tie fell from his hands onto the floor.

"I could've taken it off myself if it was really that bad."

Head tilted slightly to the side, House responded, "Do you have a problem with me undressing you?"

Wilson didn't answer. For a moment there was only the sound of their light breathing and the steady rhythm of their heartbeats in their ears. Then the younger doctor brought the smooth palm of his hand up to run it over the course stubble. He pressed their lips together roughly, the stubble rough against his own smooth skin and lips.

First he was kissing House's lips then his cheeks, his neck, and his lips again. Soft manicured hands ran under the faded tee and over the broad back. It was House that got them standing. Leaning on Wilson for support he brought them stumbling to the bedroom. All the grief and pain was forgotten in a wave of ecstasy. There was no blame, no self-incriminations, no misery.

* * *

_This was the hardest chapter to write. I think I wrote five different versions before I just stuck with the one, which I didn't write until one in the morning, but I'm happier with this version than the others (which you would have hated me for) so enjoy... _


	13. Chapter 13

_Time to end this sucker. Takes place about two weeks after the last chapter._

* * *

The diagnostician pinched the bridge of his nose between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand and gave a sigh laden with exhaustion. He had been at the hospital for the past three days, the current case proving too puzzling for him to even think of going home. He resorted to wearing a pair of Wilson's emergency clothes in favor of having Wilson or himself running home to get a change of clothes. Now, though, the case was solved and he was determined to get home before he got roped into another back-to-back case like the ones he just finished.

The walls of his office seemed to be closing in and the urge to just escape was nearly overwhelming. House massaged the damaged muscle with the heel of his right hand and prepared to stand. He rose slowly to his feet and as soon as he put weight on his right leg the pain flared so badly that he collapsed over his desk, his hand slamming down on the paper-strewn surface to keep himself upright. He breathed through the pain, a direct result of a several hours without vicodin. At the moment he wanted nothing more than to put on a pair of jeans and pop a couple of pills.

Sticking his head out the door, he checked to make sure Cuddy wasn't anywhere in sight to rope him into another case. After seeing no one he knew personally, the diagnostician limped as fast as he could down the nearly deserted halls and through the door leading to the roof. House was almost using only one leg to get him up the stairs, heartbeat thudding in his ears as the trapped feeling threatened to overcome him. Hopping on one leg now, House limped across the length of the roof to lean over the low wall and leaned out as far as he could to catch the breeze, closing his eyes and to listen to the distant rumble of thunder.

A strong arm locked around his torso so suddenly that a panicked yell threatened to escape but he fought it down and instead fought against the person dragging him back from the edge. Lashing out with his right arm, he brought his elbow up and back causing the other person to yelp in pain and fall back, bringing House with him.

"Shit." House groaned as pain exploded in his elbow, when it hit the ground, and his right thigh, when the person's knee connected with it. He bent double over the injured muscle, hands clenched around his thigh as he closed his eyes against the pain.

"What the hell was that?"

"Asshole." House growled as he rolled to face Wilson. "I could ask you the same." His mouth contorted in a grimace of pain as a spasm ripped through his leg. There was another rumble of thunder and the sky opened up to release a sudden heavy downpour.

"I don't know. I just reacted." Wilson tilted his head up slightly to let the rain wash the blood from his lip. "I saw you leaning out and…" His voice trailed off and he gave a small shrug.

"So you came the conclusion that I was trying to kill myself. Brilliant deduction, Sherlock."

"It wouldn't be the first time." Wilson murmured under his breath. He looked away with a sigh then turned his gaze back on House. "I worry about you sometimes. I worry what's going to happen when I turn my back and turn back around and find you've hurt yourself again. You're in pain, I get that, but—"

"Do you?" House snapped. "Do you really? I don't think you do. I hate this, Wilson, more than you can know. This pain is like a disease, a cancer, sucking the life from me and I've grown tired of trying to fight it. It's the only sure thing in my life. I don't know if you'll stay but I know it will." House rubbed wearily at his leg, watching the rain soak Wilson's hair, weighing it down so it nearly covered his eyes, and drip off the end of his nose. "And you know now that it keeps me up at night but it changes. Memories that I'd rather not remember at all replay themselves again and again in my mind to torment me and increase my pain. Stop trying to break down my walls, Wilson. They're there for a reason."

"What reason is that?" Wilson nearly shouted as he pushed his hair back, away from his face. "So you can be miserable alone? If you're going to be miserable at least let me be miserable with you. I don't want you to be alone that's what I'm here for."

"I won't make you miserable, James. I'm done dragging you through the mud." House looked at Wilson from the veil of his lashes, waiting for the oncologist's reaction.

Wilson gaped at his lover for a minute then shook his head, whipping the water from his hair. "You're breaking up with me?"

"Yes."

"Why? What did I do?"

"Didn't you hear me?" House yelled, chest heaving. "I'm tired of dragging you with me on my misery trips. I'm tired of watching you suffer and know that I'm the cause of it."

"I'm not suffering." Wilson yelled back. "You have to be the biggest idiot I've ever met. You are the source of my misery because you won't let me help you. In case you haven't noticed by now, I like to be needed in a relationship." He paused to spit out rain that had gotten into his mouth. "For once can you, please, enable _me_?"

"No, Wilson. You don't need my neediness and I'm tired of leaning on you."

"I want you to lean on me. I want you to need me." Wilson was nearly screaming with frustration at this point. He grabbed at fistful of hair and seemed to almost be contemplating pulling it out but released it a few seconds later.

House was silent, staring at the faint pink scars on his wrist that the cast had covered. There was nothing particularly fascinating about them; he had a dozen more exactly the same, but he was captivated by these nonetheless. For unknown reasons he remember just a few nights ago when Wilson had traced the finger of his right hand over it and gave a sigh that sounded almost remorseful. His thoughts were interrupted suddenly when he heard the distinct rattle of pills and looked up to see Wilson pull a pill bottle from his pocket.

"You haven't had any since lunch. You're in pain so you're more miserable. Take a few and make it go away for a few minutes."

House stared at the pill bottle in Wilson's outstretched hand for a moment then shook his head. "It's just going to come back."

"So what? Take some more and make it go away again. Damn it, House, don't tell me we're back at square one. Don't make me have to bury you." Wilson breath hitched and his chest heaved as his tears mingled with the rain on his face.

"Shut up, Wilson. There's nothing to cry about. You goddamn pansy." House yelled. He grasped the front of Wilson shirt and shook him roughly. "Stop crying. Do you hear me? If you don't stop crying, so help me I'll—"

"You'll what?" Wilson sniffed and made a noise somewhere between a sob and a laugh. "That's your father talking isn't it? You've got no real anger in you."

"Shut up. Why the hell won't you shut up?"

"You wouldn't even hit me. You can't do it, you're too nice."

"Shut your goddamn mouth. You have no idea what I'm capable of." House growled.

"Then show me, Greg. Go ahead and hit me."

House released Wilson's shirt and glared at him. "I hate you."

"No, you don't but you wish you did. Maybe then it wouldn't hurt so badly but those are only words. It was you who told me only actions matter and I've never seen even the slightest action of hate from you. In fact, you show nothing but—"

"Don't say it."

"Why not? I can't tell you the truth? All your actions have ever told me was that you loved me. Is that not the truth or were you lying to me through your actions?"

"You know the answer." House turned his head, his law working to bit back the sudden bitter feeling of remorse for putting his hands on Wilson in such a way.

"Then why are you doing this? Why are you being so damn difficult?"

"Because I don't want you to be miserable with me."

"Since you think you're so observant, tell me when the last time I took my meds was."

"I don't know…this morning." House gave a half-hearted shrug.

"Wrong. I stopped taking them two weeks ago. You make me feel…better, House. I just hate that I can't do the same for you."

House shook his head as if to negate that statement. "You make it tolerable."

"I don't want to just make it tolerable." Wilson sighed again and stared at House with sad eyes. "Do you love me?"

"I thought we already talked about this."

"You say actions matter but I want to hear you say it."

"What will that accomplish?"

"Why can't you just say it?"

House hesitated for a moment and looked at Wilson with a small smile playing on his lips. "I love you, James."

"I love you too, Greg."

House motioned for Wilson to help him to his feet. "I think we've made progress." He said as Wilson helped him up.

"Hurray for square two." The younger doctor mumbled.

Leaning over, House pressed his lips to the side of Wilson's neck. "Cripples can only move so fast."

* * *

_Who can say writer's block to the maximum? Anyway, big thanks go to all you wonderful people that took the time to review. It feeds my addiction…_


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